


echoes

by Larissa



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 05:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larissa/pseuds/Larissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While searching for a cure for geostigma, Cloud investigates the Shinra Mansion and finds it's not so easy to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	echoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jukeboxhound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukeboxhound/gifts).



Cloud had never wanted to return to this place.

The world has been torn to shreds and yet the Shinra mansion still looks as it did when he was but a curious child searching for a place to hide. It had fallen into disrepair but the Shinra builders had accounted for that in their reconstruction, down to the chipping paint and the slight sag of the roof. Not a single scorch mark remains from that night.

He is tempted to change that, to a degree that surprises him.

But Cloud has not made the long journey here to destroy this place, much as it deserves it. With a last look at the darkening sky, he strides inside.

In the distance, a wolf howls.

 

 

 

There is no sign that anyone has disturbed this ruin. Dust lies thick on the floor, spinning into the air as his boots clank on the floorboards. The windows are caked over with grime, barely letting in any light. Cloud flips a nearby switch, and isn’t surprised when nothing happens.

He listens for movement, and hears none.

It makes him even more uneasy.

The village was abandoned, the Shinra stand-ins having given up the ruse after Meteor. Cloud had not thought that the monsters would have left this place as well.

He does not let go of his sword as he steps further inside.

 

 

 

Cloud stares down into the gaping maw of the hidden stairwell.

He cannot seem to make himself continue.

He remembers the first time he found this place. He had been so worried. Sephiroth had gone into the house and had not come out for days. He had looked all over the house before finally coming across the hidden passage. He recalls how Sephiroth never once looked his direction, buried in a sea of books and reports. He remembers the vivid concern he had for Sephiroth, and the uncertainty he had felt at not knowing what to do to help him.

These are not his memories.

Cloud knows that-- he _knows_ , knows it was Zack, not him, he knows. It wasn’t him, it was never him. But the memories burn bright, a lit candle refusing to go out.

Purpose spurs him forward. If there is anywhere on the Planet that might bear a clue to the origin of geostigma, it is here. And he has to find it.

He steps forward, and allows the darkness to swallow him.

 

 

 

The laboratory looks much as he last left it. Research materials are piled on every available surface. Jars of different liquids line the walls -- small vials, on the shelves, to the large vats of mako in the corner. The room is cast in a faint green glow.

Cloud’s stomach tightens.

As if pulled by an invisible string, he steps over to the vats. His fingers ghost over the glass, tracing the jagged markings he knows will be there.

_Let’s get out of here…_

His reflection flickers before his eyes, and when he looks there is a boy in a Shinra uniform behind the glass staring back at him.

Pain twinges down his arm. Cloud jerks back reflexively. The image fades.

 

 

 

He remembers being here, and he doesn’t.

Lights. Metal against his skin. Piercing pain. An injection. Murmured voices. Struggling to break free. More whispers. Rustling papers. Blood draining. 

Hazy moments of clarity, seeing the world through fogged glass, recognizing faces, trying to speak.

Then back in the vat, and nothing but green.

Then out again, and repeat.

Cloud remembers.

But are they his memories?

 

 

 

The burning in his arm recedes. Cloud counts backwards from ten. Takes a breath, blows it out.

He’s just here to find information. That’s it. The sooner he finds it, the sooner he can get out of this place.

He takes a guess that this lab runs off the mako in the vats, and is proven right when the lights flicker on. Never thought he’d appreciate something like that so much, but that’s the state of things after Meteor.

Cloud looks around the library. The walls are overflowing with books, the shelves running floor to ceiling.

This… is going to take a while.

 

 

 

Piles of books grow around the study as though it were of their own accord, and not the haphazard discarding of materials as Cloud moves around the room. There is no organization to the shelves and Cloud is not here to catalogue.

Most of the materials here are research findings, experiment logs, and various scientific journals. The language used in them is far beyond Cloud’s vocabulary. He is not well suited to examining them.

But no one else could. Not these files.

Cloud picks up the first log and begins to read.

 

 

 

He reads through one stack, then another, and another. Records of materia experimentation, monster augmentation, various SOLDIER treatments. He cannot understand all of the words, only enough to know they have nothing to do with the stigma.

Until he finds one log in particular.

Stiff fingers flip through the pages. Scattered sentences stay behind.

_Subject C continues to respond to treatment. Dosage will be increased…_

_...as planned with Subject Z, however result is not as desired; consider…_

_…levels dropping in Subject C again; candidate remains inconsistent…_

Pain surges through his arm. The log slips through his fingers. The stigma seeps out, blots the pages.

He can still make out a single word.

_Failure_.

 

 

 

He’s in Nibelheim again, and the inferno rages around him as he watches Sephiroth smile.

He’s behind the glass again, swallowed up in the green sea, and there are parts of him that are missing and he doesn’t know where to find them.

He’s on the truck again. Zack’s words are floating through the air and he can’t reach high enough to get them. Can’t reach when Zack sets him down, walks away.

He’s on the altar again, and she’s _right there_ , not even a step away, and the sword comes down and she sags forward and her hair comes loose, framing her face like a halo.

 

 

 

Cloud’s breathing is shaky. The dark stain of the stigma is smeared on his arm. He cannot seem to keep his hands from trembling.

The visions still blur behind his eyes.

He stands, and leaves the laboratory. The mako hums behind him.

 

 

 

The stars have come out over Nibelheim. Cloud leans on the gate and turns his face to the heavens. Out here he can hear the wind rustling through the trees and the faint trill of insects.

For a while he just listens, and tries to remember how to breathe.

He is never without the guilt. It gnaws at him from the inside out, crawling up in the nights where all he can do is stare at the ceiling and _remember_. It’s there every time he closes his hand around the hilt of his sword. Every time he passes a flower garden.

Sometimes he thinks the stigma is his punishment.

Sometimes he thinks he deserves it.

 

 

 

But Denzel doesn’t.

Not Denzel, and not the other kids in Edge. All over the world. They don’t bear the same weight he does. They shouldn’t have to endure the stigma.

His arm is still throbbing with pain, but he closes his hand into a fist.

Cloud knows Hojo is dead. Knows that what’s down in that laboratory are only words, words spun into memories best left forgotten.

But if there is a chance to cure the stigma…

Cloud turns back to the mansion. The gate swings shut behind him.


End file.
